


In Uthenera

by Corona



Series: Playing with Fire [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Insecurity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21589648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corona/pseuds/Corona
Summary: The realisation of Felix's death fully sinks in when the party is in Crestwood. Leas does his best to help Dorian through it.
Relationships: Felix Alexius & Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Series: Playing with Fire [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551184
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	In Uthenera

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! Also, some inspiration for this was taken from milkymacchamoon's comic [It Should Have Been Me](https://milkymacchamoon.tumblr.com/post/150425366202/so-here-is-after-several-delays-my-new-comic). No copyright infringement intended.

It starts in Crestwood, sometime after they close the rift in the lake. The region is altogether less miserable now that the sun is out and the demons have mostly gone, and they wander the hills at a leisurely pace, picking off the stragglers and investigating anything of interest. The routine is familiar enough by now that Dorian can fall into it without thinking.

In the Flats, some distance westward of the village, Blackwall stops and points to something not so far off. "Another astrarium," he says, and Dorian looks around in time to see Leas turn to peer in that direction. An excited gleam comes into his eyes, and a grin breaks out over his face, and he alters course at once to head toward the astrarium. His pace is quick, eager like a child's; watching him, Dorian sees a keen interest in every plane of his face, as he has every other time they've come to an astrarium together.

It never bothers him, but for whatever reason, when he sees it this time, a sickly warmth starts in his gut and spreads through his veins until it must surely radiate from his skin, and his fingers tremble, and his mouth goes dry, and suddenly his head isn't so clear as it was mere moments ago. Dorian swallows, attempts to determine the reason for this change—perhaps the beginnings of a cold, Maker knows he thought he'd catch his death of one in the horrendous weather—but he finds nothing until he chances another glance at Leas' face.

Then, for a moment, he sees another man: taller, and darker, with close-cropped curly hair and brown eyes, in yellow robes. Different in every respect but for the eagerness in his eyes, provoked by the astraria, and the way he scrounges around in his pack for the notes he's already written regarding the constellations he's observed through them thus far.

Different, also, in that he's alive and able to fawn over the astraria, while Felix is not and never will again.

Dorian stumbles on his feet with a quiet exhale of breath, and the world briefly swims in front of his eyes. No longer warm—now he feels like he's on fire, his blood boiling with the thing he hasn't had time to process, perhaps hasn't allowed himself to process. The clouds rush in, chase all coherent thought from his head, and as Dorian recovers himself, he can't help but lift his hand to his throat as though he might be sick. Praise the bloody Maker Cole isn't here, but he's dimly aware of Varric and Blackwall eyeing him out of the corners of their eyes—a few more seconds and they might ask him what's wrong, and how can he answer them?

So Dorian rights himself, and he swallows down his rising bile and considers the possibility of starting to carry around a bottle in his pack for times like this, while they continue onto the astrarium. When they reach it at last ( _too soon_ ), Leas turns to look at him, and his smile remains—apparently, his excitement makes him oblivious to all else. "Here we are. Do you want to help, Dorian?" he asks, and Dorian again thanks the Maker for the man having the decency to ask.

"No, not this time, I'm sorry," he says shakily. Leas' smile fades, and his brow furrows as it always does when he's disappointed, and though Dorian scrambles for an answer to satisfy him, it's hard to think around or through the haze in his head. Didn't Felix always frown like that when he was disappointed, too? "Just… no. I…" He trails off.

Leas still frowns, and Dorian can see from the expression in his eyes that he's aware of something being wrong, but—praise the Maker _again_ for the man's consideration—he only nods. "Of course," he says, and he even sounds _soothing_. "Not this time. Hopefully, this won't take long." With that, he turns to the astrarium and bends down to peer through it; while he does so, Dorian steps away as far as he dares. He can't bear to be around this, to set his eyes on something that Felix so adored and see the echoes of his joy in Leas' face.

An echo, maybe, but of joy that has gone from the world and _will not be seen again_.

Again, he chokes, and Maker only knows what keeps him from letting out a sob. Blank though he tries to keep his head, still the images keep passing through: long nights spent studying, sweets snuck up to him from the kitchens, hours of discussing their favourite books and magical theories, letters from the University of Orlais explicating on Felix's life there and the mathematics he was learning, times when they would stare up at the stars and Felix would ramble about the mathematics of astronomy and how the astraria could advance their understanding of the stars, cold horror and silence when he got the news from Hossberg and when he first saw the toll that the taint was taking on him, Felix's promise to tell the Magisterium of Leas' actions the last time they spoke to each other…

Then nothing. That's it. Felix left on a promise, and that promise is fulfilled, but now there's… nothing else.

It's done. Just like that.

Too early, too soon. Small wonder that he thinks something's missing, that there's a gaping chasm in him he didn't know of before that surely can't be filled. All those years, all the possibilities for Felix, the life he could have led and the things he could have done… Almost beyond comprehension that it's over.

The world starts swimming again, but it's not so much the world as it's what's in front of his eyes.

"There we go," Leas cries exultantly. But Dorian does not turn back around—refuses to—and for another few minutes after, there is only silence, no doubt as Leas compares what he's seen in the astrarium to his notes. Dorian only hopes he hurries up and works it out quickly—if they stay here any longer, his ribs might break under the pressure building in his chest. He needs to get out of here, find a tavern to drown his sorrows in and let the dam burst before he has to put on his mask of Tevinter civility and refinement again.

"Tenebrium," Leas says once those few minutes have passed. " _Banal'ras_ to my people, or sometimes _Tarlinydha_. One of my favourites," he adds, and Dorian bites into his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Of course, it is—it was one of Felix's favourites, too.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit!_

Behind him, he hears a faint shuffling of papers and a few footsteps. "The Shadow," Blackwall says. "How many astrariums is that now?"

Dorian's fist clenches in his robe. " _Astraria,_ " he hisses under his breath, fury cutting through the fog in his head like a foghorn. Irrational, he knows. But it was _astraria_ in Ancient Tevene, and that was how Felix always said it, and if he has to hear that southern mangling _one more time_ (even if it's not so southern; his own countrymen say 'astrariums' these days, too), he will set somebody's eyebrows on _fire_. Thankfully, nobody hears his little outburst, or else they ignore it, and Leas cheerfully tells Blackwall that that's the sixth he's found, and Dorian relaxes somewhat as he hears him getting to his feet and putting his notes away.

"Let's keep going," he says. "Dorian, are you all right?"

Dorian swallows thickly as he turns back around and rejoins them. "I'm just tired," he says, wishing he could work up some of his usual sarcasm and flippancy to get Leas off his back. "Running around in the rain fighting off bandits and demons isn't what I would call _rejuvenating_." Well, he makes an attempt at it, but even to his own ears, his voice sounds flat and strangled.

Leas stares at him for a moment, but then he nods. "I know," he says, sympathetic as ever. "We'll be back in camp soon. Then we can all _clean up_ , Creators preserve me."

"Hear, hear," Varric says loudly, and Dorian puffs out something resembling a sigh of relief. Then they get on their way back to the town, but Felix's image still flickers in front of his eyes, his voice in his ears, and Dorian almost wishes it was still raining, so he can explain the wetness under his eyes.

* * *

"Dorian?"

_Fasta vass! Where did he come from?_

Dorian jumps half out of his skin and springs up from where he'd been leaning against the tree, and he whips around to see Leas approaching him, face half-hidden by his cowl. Had he been paying attention, he realises a moment later, he would have heard the man's footsteps on the grass, but in his experience, 'attention' is one of the first things to go out the window in the middle of emotional breakdowns. Such as the one he's having now.

Another moment later, it occurs to him that he should wipe the wetness off his cheeks, even though his own cowl probably keeps Leas from seeing it, and get his breathing back under control. Never mind that Leas won't be bothered by seeing him in this state—not in that sense, anyway—but Tevinter standards for civility and decorum are not so easily forgotten, and the man's already seen enough of his more _negative_ emotions for one month. So Dorian swallows and wipes his face as surreptitiously as he can, and though Leas casts his cowl back, revealing a look of perfect concern that almost makes him want to let down his barriers for once, he does not do the same. "Inquisitor," he says, bland and distant.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Leas says gently. A pause. Dorian nods distractedly and swallows again. Then Leas continues, "But you left camp a while ago, and I noticed you've been quiet. I just wanted to check on you, ask how you're doing."

Damn the man. Damn his worry. Dorian looks away, half wanting the comfort that Leas seems so perfectly equipped to provide and half wishing he would just leave him well alone. He said once that Tevinters feel deeply about everything, and that was no lie, but for things like this? They feel them in _private_. Alone, most often. Leas shouldn't… "Haven't you got a world to save?" he says, and his voice is thicker than he'd hoped—a telling sign of his distress, the sort of thing that'll give the game away. Blast it.

"It won't be saved right this minute," Leas says, with the flicker of a smile. "And I've always got time for hearing my followers out. Unless you would prefer to be alone…?"

Dorian thinks it over for a long moment, then his shoulders slump, and he sighs. "No, stay, please. I suppose I have some need of comfort." Comfort that he can't provide to himself, _again_ from Leas after the mess with his father—better than drinking himself into a stupor, but when he will learn the meaning of 'healthy coping mechanism'? Felix knew, didn't he, and if Dorian had any sense, he would have asked him, but…

But.

Leas nods and walks over to him, standing close enough that their shoulders almost touch. He doesn't seem at all frustrated by the request, doesn't appear to be wondering why Dorian can't help himself, and though it's validation, all it does is make Dorian feel _worse_. He should be able to do this himself, not need to rely on others, shouldn't he? Why pass off all his troubles onto a man he's only known for five months? "Is it about Felix?" Leas asks, still gentle, and Dorian frowns.

"Yes. But… how did you guess?"

Leas shrugs. "You got the letter last month, and this is the second time I've seen you visibly distressed. Between that letter and your father, I can't imagine this has been one of your easier months, and I know from experience that these things take a while to sink in. Easy enough to work it out."

Dorian looks away with a sigh and leans back against the tree. "Yes. It's just starting to come home that he's…" He clenches his fist within his robes.

" _Ebalan i'na,_ " Leas says.

"You've said that before." Once in the future, for Alexius' future self, the second time when Dorian got the letter about Felix. "What does it mean?"

"'I grieve with you,'" Leas tells him, and that jars Dorian enough for him to look back at Leas and raise his eyebrow. "It's not so literal," Leas adds quickly, with a shrug. "Well, I suppose it is sometimes. It's just what my people say to someone who's in mourning, even if they hated the one being mourned. But I'm being literal here."

"You didn't know Felix," Dorian says, rather more viciously than Leas deserves. "You don't _get_ to…" But he trails off—Felix would have rejected such sentiments, wouldn't he?

Of course, he would have. Felix rarely had a bad word to say about anyone, much like Leas himself. He would have accepted the grief of a stranger and reminded Dorian with a small smile that it's _tacky_ to reject such condolences.

Something else that only makes him feel worse.

Leas says, "I didn't, but I regret his death. He seemed a good man, the sort of person Tevinter needs, as you said, and he deserved better than dying of the taint. I don't doubt there was much he could have done, but whatever it was now will never be. So much wasted potential… Maybe that's what I regret, but even so." The words remind Dorian of what he said about Alexius, how he regretted how far the man had fallen because of his baser emotions, and his heart clenches. So much bloody kindness and compassion in that innocent bleeding heart of his—he and Felix would have got along _famously_.

"Then I thank you, and I apologise for snapping at you," Dorian says stiffly, at least in part because his eyes are welling up again and he's trying to speak around a lump in his throat. Leas puts a hand on his shoulder, his touch as soft as his voice, and though Dorian almost tears himself away out of instinct—what if somebody's watching?—he allows himself to lean into it after a few moments. A long silence ensues.

Ultimately, Dorian is the one to break it, with eyes closed and his head resting against the tree trunk. "Felix loved the astraria, you know," he says exhaustedly. "He had little model toys of them in his chambers back home. We used to go out at night and watch the stars, and he would ramble on about mathematics in astronomy and how the astraria could still have a practical purpose even today. Whenever we found one on our expeditions, he would spend hours at it, talking my ear off all the while, not that I minded. Much." He opens his eyes and glances at Leas out of the corner of them, ignoring the renewed tears and how they slip down his cheek. "And he always got this excited gleam in his eyes in either case, much like yours. Precisely like yours, in fact. And Tenebrium was his favourite."

Leas bows his head, expression screaming regret. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "No wonder you didn't want to help. Is this what started…?"

Dorian nods. "That expression on your face… You looked so much like him. It just… hit me at that moment. Whatever passing resemblance you bear to him, _he's_ gone, and his like won't be seen again." His voice cracks, and again he wipes at his face—fruitlessly.

"A great loss," Leas says. "For you, for Tevinter, for… for his father." His voice shakes as well, minutely, and Dorian groans and buries his face in his hands.

"The less we say about Alexius, the _better_. When I told him…" His throat closes here, and he shakes his head again, more tears squeezing out from under his lids, and Leas tightens his grip on him and strokes his shoulder with gentle fingers. Dorian barely senses it over the haze of memories and the image of Alexius collapsing in despair, sobbing too hard to speak. "Now I wonder if executing him might have been the greater kindness. As much as _Felix_ wouldn't have wanted it…"

"Death is rarely ever a kindness," Leas says with a shake of his head. "I will need to see him, eventually."

"Do you _want_ to rub salt in the wound?" Dorian says, viciousness returning. " _He_ doesn't know even time magic couldn't have saved Felix. As far as he's concerned, you're the one who robbed him of his last chance. And now Felix is gone."

Leas withdraws his hand and hugs himself, staring off into the distance. "He'll work it out in time. Well, let me know when it's safe to talk to him. If it ever is."

It's Dorian's turn to shake his head. "You are _relentless_ ," he mutters. "I'm not sure if I admire that about you or not."

"It's a divisive quality," Leas agrees. "But it's also beside the point. We were talking about Felix. What sort of mage was he?"

Dorian's mouth twists with bitter irony. "Not much of one at all, actually. His grandfather once tried to have him killed for being barely anything more than a _soporati_. His mother stopped it and then killed the man to make sure it never happened again." He glances at Leas to see him looking utterly appalled, and his scowl deepens. "Yes, I know, that says more about my countrymen than any grandiose speeches ever could. But Felix… he was always interested in Creation magic. If he'd had the skill and not been an _altus_ , he might have made a fine healer."

"If he'd not been an _altus_?"

"Healing is a job left to the _laetans_ ," Dorian explains, assuming a shadow of his usual show of snobbishness. "It's far too _pedestrian_ for those of gentler birth. And believe me, I'm as aware of the hypocrisy as you are. As it is, Felix was limited to reading the theory, in between his more mundane studies. It helped a little when he first contracted the taint, but… _Kaffas_. I wish I'd looked more into it."

Leas puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes again. "A thousand years and no one's ever found a cure for the taint," he says, probably meaning for his words to be reassuring. "If _you_ couldn't, it's no great failure on your part."

"I'm aware of that, yes." He concedes the point, but he does so only with the greatest reluctance; yet again, he runs his hand over his face and wishes he'd brought a bottle with him. "But if anyone ever deserved a cure… He was a far better man than I, you know. While _I_ was off visiting whorehouses, drinking myself into a stupor on a regular basis, engaging in all manner of debauchery, and being a general _embarrassment_ to my family and my name, he did worthier things. He studied, helped those who asked for it—no standing on ceremony with _him_ … He spent more time trying to console his father about his mother's death than he did worrying about his impending demise. He put up with _me_ for years. And somehow, he's…" His voice catches; he swallows around the lump in his throat while fresh tears leak out of his eyes, and the self-loathing wracks him to the point where he starts trembling.

"Somehow, he's the one who ended up spending years waiting to die, then _dying_ utterly alone, while _I'm_ still here. _He_ should have lived, long and well, seen the Imperium reborn like the three of us always wanted. Instead… Where's the fairness in that?"

Abruptly, Leas steps in front of him and grasps both of his shoulders in firm, but gentle hands, and Dorian is forced to look down at him and try to ignore the lack of distance between them. "There's none," Leas says, "but I _forbid_ you from following that line of thought to its illogical conclusion, Pavus."

"Who says I was?" he protests, with as weak a chuckle as he's ever emitted.

"I am. I could see where it was going. Whatever your failings, Dorian, you deserve a long and happy life every bit as much as he did. And if you prefer your own logic, then—you're here with the Inquisition. Helping us. You turned away from your country to come to us, in much the same way as Felix turned away from his father. Does _that_ not make you worthy of a happy life?"

Maker's mercy, the things this man says. Dorian glances away. "You would say that, wouldn't you," he mutters, for lack of any other argument—for there _is_ no other argument.

"So would Felix, wouldn't he?" Leas says. "So far, you're outnumbered." He's not wrong, and indeed, Dorian can all but hear Felix's voice speaking almost the same words. Though he manages a nod, he soon collapses back into the tree and lets the tears flow freely again, while Leas—the man of infinite patience that he is—rubs circles in his back and soothes his taut, wrenched-tight muscles with a simple spell.

After a while, he quiets and leans heavily into the tree in exhaustion, and another long silence follows. _Bloody cretin, letting yourself fall apart like this in front of him, a second unseemly display in a month—even worse than before—what must he think of you now? Unable to control your emotions like this?_ Never mind that Leas' only concern the first time around was for how he was feeling—there must be a limit. Does Leas really possess such endless patience for a high-born, big bad Tevinter, or is he keeping one of his subordinates from going over the edge and being a bit… personal about it?

Not that Dorian gets a chance to voice this, as Leas now breaks the silence. "Perhaps this won't help, but… the Dalish have a song that we sing at funerals. Would you like to listen to it?"

For half a moment, Dorian considers denying him, but then—whether it's because he apparently he can't deny Leas anything or because this is the closest he'll get to going to Felix's funeral—he nods. "I wasn't aware you sang," he says.

"Often, yes," Leas tells him. "I've spent many nights singing along with my clanmates around the campfire, and anyway, I'm… I like the arts. I used to draw and write, too, and paint, but I haven't had time for it in years. So I sing. A lot."

"Let me hear it." If this were any other time, he might flirt, but he's too drained to think of such things now.

Leas nods and stands up straight. He breathes in and out a few times, then closes his eyes and sings, his voice soft and mellifluous (well, of course, it is. This man seems to have had all the luck: a fine body, a fine face, and a fine voice). As he does so, he gesticulates slightly, spreads his hands to the winds, but the gestures are restrained, subtle, seem somehow quiet.

" _Hahren mar melana sahlin. Emma ir abelas. Souver'inan isala ha'mi'in. Vhen'an himal dorf'i'felas. In uthenera na revas._ " He breathes in deeply, exhales, paces back and forth. " _Sulenir nirir. Dirthir eraan. Samahlir numir. Lathir sa'vun'in._ " He slows down, elongates the syllables while focusing as though he were preparing a spell. " _Sulenir nirir. Dirthir eraan. Samahlir numir. Lathir sa'vun'in._ " When he finishes, he opens his eyes, and Dorian bows his head respectfully.

"A fine song," he says after a moment. "Thank you. What does… what does it translate to?"

Leas shrugs, cheeks turning faintly pink. "Roughly, 'elder, your time has come. Now I am filled with sorrow. Weary eyes need resting. The heart has become grey and slow. In the long sleep is freedom. We sing, we rejoice, we tell the tales, we laugh, we cry, we love one more day.' What the original elven lyrics _were_ is a bit of a mystery, however. What I sang is my best guess, but I'm sure it's inaccurate. We're lucky to even have a full song as it is."

"Still, it's lovely," Dorian tells him earnestly as Leas leans against the tree again. "Felix _would_ have appreciated it, though I'm sure the irony of a Dalish elf singing it for a Tevinter would not have been lost on him."

"He can consider it a kind gesture, then," Leas says, chuckling. "Repayment for what he did for us." Dorian nods, satisfied, and they lapse into another, more comfortable silence, one he spends by wiping his face and finally calming himself, though perhaps not all the way. Eventually, Leas looks at him again. "You know, I sang that song at Elior Tabris' funeral."

Dorian looks curiously at him. "Truly?"

Leas nods. "He saved my life several times over. At least twice. At his funeral, I asked his father if I could offer a Dalish gift, so to speak—I know how much he respected us, for a start, and I wanted to repay him, somehow—and he agreed. So I sang that very same song, and I repeated my promise—a promise I'd made the last time we met—that I would have the Dalish sing of him forever. He deserves it."

"How often did you meet him?" Dorian asks, turning to look Leas better in the eye. "I can't imagine it was all that often."

"Once in the Brecilian Forest, twice in the Denerim alienage. One of those was during the last battle, when darkspawn attacked the alienage, and he called in Clan Vaharis to help the city elves defend their home. We didn't fight alongside each other, but… it was inspiring to _watch_ him fight. He was only a few years older than I was, and he'd done such incredible things." As he speaks, Leas reaches up and grasps the amulet that's been hanging around his neck since the day Dorian met him, and he stares at it for a few moments, a thoughtful expression on his face. "He gave me this the second time we met," he adds, as if answering Dorian's thoughts. "I've held onto it ever since."

Dorian inclines his head slowly, thoughtful himself. "He wasn't a friend, but he meant a great deal to you," he says.

"He was a hero. I owe him my life twice over, and I don't think I ever got to repay the debt. When he died…" Leas exhales, and his breath sounds somewhat ragged. He looks up at Dorian. "It took a while to sink in for me, too. It didn't hit me until I was on the ship back to the Free Marches. He was gone, at only eighteen, after having done more in ten months than most do in a lifetime. And he would never know the difference he made in my life, or in the lives of so many…" His mouth twists into a sad, regretful smile. "He wasn't a friend, but I cried so hard."

Strange, Dorian thinks, to have such intense feelings for a hero after so many years, even if the man did save his life. That's something else one doesn't see in Tevinter. "Excuse me, but you speak as if you _revere_ him."

Leas chuckles and hugs himself again, staring thoughtfully off into the distance. "His memory. But at the time, yes. He was a hero, an idol… several other things." His cheeks flush pink, and Dorian raises an eyebrow; Leas looks around in time to catch it. His smile widens slightly.

"That sounds like more than _reverence_ if you ask me."

"True. Sleeping with Areina Vaharis convinced me I didn't like girls, but Elior Tabris convinced me that there was nothing wrong with liking boys." Dorian's eyebrow climbs higher, and Leas shrugs. "I spent a long time trying to convince myself I liked girls. Made the idea of one day having children more… palatable. When I finally realised that I _didn't_ , I was… a little ashamed. I thought I was failing my people. But looking at Elior Tabris… what could be wrong with liking boys if it meant I got to like somebody like him?"

It's Dorian's turn to laugh, and it rings out clear and loud, if only briefly. "That's one way of coming to terms with it," he says, the understanding lifting his mood a great deal. How long and how many men had it taken before _he'd_ accepted that there was nothing wrong with what he felt?

Leas grins at him. "What can I say? I was fourteen, fifteen, and Elior Tabris was a strapping young man with shiny black hair, fire in his eyes, and pride in every line of him, and he thrice came in out of _nowhere_ like one of the Emerald Knights, saved all our lives, and killed our enemies with a greatsword made of _starmetal_. To quote Dagna: 'it was a dark time. There was one light.' I think it would be more surprising if I _hadn't_ been mesmerised." His cheeks burn as he speaks, but Dorian only smiles.

"As infatuations go, you could have done worse," he agrees. "And since his death?"

"Since then? I've tried to keep his memory alive, the things he stood for. What I do now, I do for his memory and to follow in his footsteps as much as anything else. I strive to follow his example… perhaps you might do the same with Felix." Here, Dorian senses that he's now arrived at a point he was trying to make, and again, he nods.

"I can't argue with that," he says. "I'm still open to the idea of spawning the Cult of Felix."

Leas chokes on his laugh. "And _I_ still think that's awful," he says, but there's no real reproval in his tone. "Just remember the man. Follow his example. You needn't completely co-opt his behaviour, but if you bring his dreams to fruition, then…"

"Then his death has meaning," Dorian says, and he smiles again, if rather more solemnly than before. There _is_ some comfort to be found in that, however, and the sickly heat that's been radiating from his skin ever since this started finally begins to cool as he considers it. What greater thanks can he offer to his friend than keeping his dreams alive and following his example (and not getting himself killed)? Easier said than done, perhaps, but few things would have made Felix happier. "It's worth considering," he says, and Leas smiles.

"I thought as much. Did that help, Dorian?"

Dorian nods, and he, at last, pushes back his cowl to shoot Leas the most grateful look he can muster. "It did, yes. Thank you, Inquisitor. You seem to have a gift for knowing just what to say in times like these."

"A Keeper is a guide and counsellor as much as a leader," Leas says, his smile turning wry. "And you learn things, raising a child."

"I hope you're not equivocating these two situations," Dorian says, some of his usual flippancy finally returning, and Leas laughs aloud. "I was a perfect adult the last time I checked."

"An adult, anyway," Leas says teasingly, and Dorian chuckles; he would come up with some sort of rejoinder, but as calm as he is now, he can feel his muscles sagging from exhaustion. Leas sees it. "Do you want to go back? I think we could both do with some rest."

Indeed, sinking onto his cot in his tent—after perhaps having had a stiff drink—seems like an excellent idea right now. "Gladly," he says, pushing off the tree. He falls into step next to Leas as they head back towards the camp, talking idly, and though Felix's image passes through his mind more than he would like and sets the sickly warmth going in his blood again, Dorian can at least appreciate the company of this man, right here, right now.

As they return to camp, part of him even thinks that maybe he's another example worth following.

**Author's Note:**

> You may notice I used a version of _In Uthenera_ that's not completely accurate to the in-game version. This is because I decided to reconstruct the song using FenxShiral's [Project Elvhen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883), and then mix these lyrics with the in-game lyrics to create a new, somewhat more grammatically accurate version that still keeps to canon. As Leas says, the Dalish are lucky to even have the full song, so the actual lyrics are a bit of a mystery to him.


End file.
